Boar-n Free in the south of France

A friend on holiday in Gigaro, near Toulon in the south of France, sent me a link which made me even more envious that I am not where he is. It is a news item from Var Matin, the local paper in the département of the same name, about a wild boar that emerged from the sea and shocked sunbathers who are used to seeing nothing hairier than an au naturel tourist splashing about in the neighbourhood.

The newspaper article, which is here if you want to see it and can understand French, ends with a little joke about the possibility that the animal could have swum across from Corsica. But I’ve seen this happen before on that very stretch of coast, and I can reveal all. Well, I revealed it in a newspaper article I wrote at the time and, I seem to remember, in my novelDial M for Merde, but I shall reveal it for a third time because it’s a nice story, and because it’s worth talking about Gigaro, one of the most beautiful places on the south coast of France (if you want to take my word for it).

It’s a stretch of beach south of Ramatuelle and Saint Tropez, mainly backed by fairly nondescript villas and hotels, but set next to a wonderful nature reserve, 300 hectares or so of coastal Mediterranean forest, with a path leading right around the headland of Cap Lardier for about 15 kilometres, if you have the energy and water supply. In mid-summer it gets a bit crowded, and the best places for sunning yourself on the rocks are grabbed early in the day, but out of season it is a glorious place to walk, swim, walk, sunbathe, picnic, swim and walk, though not necessarily in that order. Skinny-dipping seems to be acceptable, if that’s your thing, though I personally am too worried about sea urchins to risk lolling about in the shadows with nothing between me and multiple puncture wounds.

Anyway, I was sitting on a rock one day, in January of 2007 I think it was, when I heard a commotion and saw a huge hairy wild boar snuffling out of the dense forest towards me. I was a bit worried that it might think I was threatening its piglets rather than enjoying the smell of sun-warmed vegetation, but it dashed right past me, leapt into the water and started swimming out to sea. I thought the poor thing had decided to winter in Corsica or Tunisia and was going to drown during the crossing, but it soon turned back towards the coast and clambered out on to a rock, disappearing from sight. Just then some dogs dashed out of the forest, yelping and apparently accusing me of being a boar in disguise. I managed to convince them this wasn’t the case with a few well-chosen Anglo-Saxon words and after a last accusing growl, they ran off into the trees again. Only then did the wild boar jump off its rock, swim back to shore and run for cover.

Afterwards, one of the two ladies who (back then) ran the restaurant on the beach told me that hunting was banned but that ex-chasseurs still let their dogs do a bit of boar-bothering. The animal, she said, had probably worked out that this was the best way to get them off its scent.

I can only think that the holidaymakers in the Var Matin article were witnesses to the end of a similar scene. Maybe it was even the same pig. I must check whether it has a Twitter account to see if it has given its side of the story.